The Sin of the Mind
by papage329
Summary: A series of oneshots about everybody's favorite hot, gay, assassin who enjoys being whipped by his equally hot and sadistic master Cesare Borgia... No, its' actually pretty sad to be honest
1. It's A Sin

**I can't promise that this will be particularly great, seeing as I'm not the best writer. But enjoy **

* * *

I sit in the pew, keeping my head down. The pope looks down at his book, and then up again, scanning the crowd, making eye contact. He starts the hymn. Something in Latin. I don't know what it means. The rest of the church joins in. I keep my mouth shut.

Cesare, who is standing beside his father, prays as well, but I know he doesn't believe it. He makes eye contact with me, still chanting the prayer. I find myself staring at his lips, they're beautiful. His eyes look down again, a passive look on his face.

He really is beautiful all over actually. The way his hair grazes the shoulders of his robes, his intense eyes. Everything about him. I could imagine him strewn out on a bed, his torso in the moonlight...I can feel my cheeks going red with the thought. I daydream for the rest of the service, trying to keep the sinful thoughts out of my head.

Eventually a few of the younger cardinals, including Cesare, walk through the isles with the collection plate, as he walked by me I put a coin in the plate. He turned to look at me, a smile playing on his lips, obviously had not expecting it. I felt my face grow hot again.

* * *

The service ended, I stood up and waited in the corner until everyone left. I then quickly walked into the confessional.

I took a deep breath, "Cardinal Borgia?"

"It's me."

I let out the breath I was holding.

"I have important information about our next target, master," I said, "But first I have a confession."

"Tell me." Cesare said, confused."

"My whole life is one huge sin, and I know that no confession can change that, but... I have sinned in a way that even I am ashamed to admit."

"How?"

"I have thought something, in church none the less, that I shouldn't have."

Cesare's seemed genuinely concerned and I decided that there was no turning back now.

"What was it?"

"Its more of a 'who was it?' question."

Cesare sighed, "Alright, who?"

"I'm sorry master I really am."

"Micheletto, just tell me."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have started this." I couldn't bear to tell him.

"I order you to tell me." Cesare commanded, growing frustrated.

"If you must know... it was you."

I hung my head in shame.

I didn't like telling him, but I couldn't keep such a secret from my master.

"Its a sin." Cesare said.

He continued, "But when have I cared about sins?"

I smiled, just a little bit.

* * *

**I apologize about the ending. It makes me mad because I don't understand what really happened. **


	2. Streaks of Red

**I really like this one, although it's much too short.**

* * *

Micheletto dumped the body into the river just as the sun began to dawn, spreading streaks of red across the blue sky.

He sat down, exhausted from the night's work. And watched the corpse float on the water, he wished he didn't have to kill her, but she saw too much...

_No, don't feel bad for her. There's no room for remorse in this line of work."_

He watched as her hair ,which was a copper-red color, spread out in the water, her face looked so serene...

_Like Ophelia... It's really too bad, she was lovely. _

_No, not like an Ophelia... like the sinful whore she was. _

Micheletto rubbed his temples, trying to erase his mind of thoughts.

She got stuck in the reeds along the stream's bank, and Micheletto sighed and waded out to her.

_Poor Ophelia... the world hasn't treated you well._

He nudged her body back into the current and she quickly was swept down stream.

_I'd cry... but I don't do sadness._

The blood from his clothes and hands seeped into the water, spreading streaks of red across the blue.


	3. Not How It Happens Around Here

After I killed my father I ran to the woods.

I was sixteen and I'd never thought it would come to this. I cried.

But he deserved it, didn't he?

He hit my mother, she'd be better off without him.

He was too drunk most of the time to earn our family money anyway

_Father came into my room, a drunken grin on his face..._

I stopped crying.

_What is a twelve year old going to suspect? What about a fourteen year old? What about fifteen? What about last night?_

I promised myself I wouldn't tell my mother though, she didn't need to know what her son did, she didn't need to know any of it. If I brought the body home, crying over it, and told her some lie about an accident...

_I feel his hot breath on my neck, and smell the liquor. _

_One, two, ten, fifteen and its over. _

Mother would pretend to be sad, she'd make a big show over it. But I know she wouldn't be. I'd make a show too, to please her.

_They say father's should beat their son and make love to their wives. But thats not how it happens around here._

I run back to the field, hoping that nobody will suspect me.

_In Church it's a sin, at home the Lord won't mind. _

I reach his body, and sling it over my shoulder, mustering up some tears and a good story. The walk home seems longer than usual...

_I stiffle my screams of pain, and silence the sinful feeling that my body tingles with._

"Father's been in an accident, he's dead."


End file.
